


sanctuary

by fangelical



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Creepypasta, Depression, Drugs, F/M, Horror, Mention of Slender man, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Postpartum Depression, Proxies (Slender Man Mythos), Reader-Insert, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangelical/pseuds/fangelical
Summary: (on hiatus- big edits coming soon.) he slenderman takes a special interest in you at the ripe age of seven after stumbling upon you in his domain. you were lost and frightened - wishing to return home. he made you feel more at home than your parents ever could and that is why you looked up to him — unfortunately this feeling soon dissipates when it is revealed that this entity is not all that it seems to be. dark and brooding, he took a special interest in you because of a hidden agenda that he wanted you to take over. of course, you would not handle it at the age of seven. so he watched you from afar and constantly reminded you that you had bigger things in store for you. your life would never be the same, no matter how much you wanted it to be. from that day forward, you belonged to him. you were the perfect host, after all.
Relationships: Slender Man/Reader, Slender Man/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

In a sea of confusion and poison ivy, the only thing able to ground you was pinned beneath a rusted nail over a willow tree. Its tall, ominous and, most of all, minacious-looking figure towers over you — leaves suspended in the air as if frozen in time. Your grubby fingers reach for the object’s edge, tossing your desire to return home behind in the mud.

You were lost, to put it simply. Many twists and turns in search of the rubber ball led you to venture off into the expanse of the forest. An exciting game of kickball soon turns sour when a classmate named Kelsey Mendoza, top athlete of the fourth grade, kicks the ball over the school gate. Desperate to finish the game before recess ended, your team only two points away from victory, you ran towards the hole in the gate and dove under it with all the might your nine-year-old body could muster. Your arbitrary decision throws you deeper, deeper and deeper into the expanse of the trees, red kickball bouncing with powerful velocity. You dove under the gate, down the steep and never-ending hill. It was a race between you and the rubber ball, the finish line’s location unknown. The closer you thought you were at grabbing the ball, the farther you actually were from it.

Dread finally began to settle into your stomach, trickling down your gut with the same casual, painstakingly slow pace of a raindrop rolling down against a car window. For a moment your body lifted up and off the ground, wind hissing against your cheeks. When you came down from your high, you slammed so hard into the soil that her front tooth must’ve split in two. your body flipped over, right-side up, soil and little leaves staining your teeth. You wondered if the metallic taste in your mouth was blood before bursting into tears.

You sat there, skirt caked in mud, and cried for what seemed like forever. The rubber ball was quickly forgotten under the searing pain you endured. The pain was nothing like the time you fell over their bike and scraped your knee, or when you burnt your tongue because you ate your dinner without letting it cool down first. Those moments seemed itty bitty, weak, now. But you persevered despite it all. Standing up, you followed the orchestra of grasshoppers, cicadas and crickets and hoped that they would guide you to familiarity.

Now that February is coming to a close, the thin sheets of ice glossing the pavement melt away and blinding, white sunlight befalls to any remaining ounce of the wintertime. The bright blue sky deepens into a darker, raspier shade of indigo. You are aware that your time spent in daylight is limited. You are running out of time. However, Your feet began to ache the longer you walked. Occasionally the pain would be so unbearable you’d stop in your tracks to cry again. And other times, when the fear of never finding your way out of the forest was too much to handle, you’d walk and cry at the same time.

That is when something catches your eye, twenty feet away from where you now stood. Stuck between bark and rust is a piece of loose leaf paper, evidently ripped out from a spiral notebook. Your body moves by itself, guided by the spirits entrapped in this forest — business unfinished, closure unreceived. You stood on your tippy-toes, grubby hands grasping for purchase. This action is repeated multiple times, your speed and agility harshly decreased due to your injuries. The mysterious page is eventually wrenched from its home, its bottom right corner torn off. You grasp onto the page with as much delicacy as, if not more than, fine china. The thought of fine china makes your stomach flutter, fragmented memories of your mother polishing the rich collection of dolls she stored in the guest room. Pretty, white faces sat side by side, frilly dresses and long lashes alike. Their familiarity comforted you.

Upon further inspection, the page contained a cryptic drawing that you could not understand. The drawing depicts a few trees drawn in black pen ink. Its line work was faded and rushed. It was as if… as if… the artist was running out of time.

Running out of time. You touch the rough, furrowed tree bark and focus on the faint but legible cries of a robin calling her children back to the nest. That sound, that feeling against your fingertips — it only served as a reminder; it only solidified the fact that you lingered in a place where you did not belong in. Would you ever find a place meant for someone such as yourself to reside in? Only time would tell.

Your lip trembled ever so slightly, as did your hands. If you weren’t careful, the drawing you’d been looking at before would be nothing but torn-up pieces of something that was once whole. But you couldn’t help herself. You missed your mother and your father terribly. Together they formed what little semblance of a home you learned to appreciate, cherish and crave. A tear rolls down your cheek, down to your chin and falls flat, smudging black ink. This might’ve been the first time this image has been tampered with in over a decade.

Beside the newly formed wet spot, there is another element to the drawing you did not pick up on before. A figure standing adjacent to the trees, seemingly blending into them. Tall and lanky, it’s most noticeable feature was its lack of. When you strode off again, loose leaf still in hand, you half-expected to see the aforementioned figure striding along with you, it’s blank expression staring back with strong animosity despite its lack of features to convey emotion. But, alas, you were alone.

It wasn’t long until you found another drawing, only this time it was not a drawing but a message. Directed to who, you did not know. The words were simple enough to read and, with your reading level reaching the letter P, this was was a sitch. From left to right, you scanned the old, yellowish paper of its contents. A tree, another figure and words reading Follows vertically. It wasn’t difficult to realize that these illustrations were made by the same person. Were these drawings meant for you or were these here by mere coincidence? Holding both pages in your left hand, you huffed in defeat. You were nowhere near home and just as confused and afraid as you had been in the beginning.

Eyes focused on these drawings, it took a few seconds for you mind to register the figure that ran past you, wind tickling the hairs on your neck. A pink streak makes a sharp right turn and it takes another few seconds for your mind to register that if there was someone else in this forest, then they’d probably know how to find the exit. You ran towards the streak, calling out to them in hopes that they’d slow down and help you solve your dilemma.

“Hey, wait a minute!” You shouted, running as fast as your battered little legs could go. The desperation in your voice was evident. The sound of leaves crunched beneath your feet and you could hear the same crunch in the distance. You followed that noise and the volume of that sound indicated whether she was getting closer or farther away. A child’s laughter reverberated in the forest, as if taunting you. Catch me if you can!

It wasn’t until you exhausted yourself enough to give up on your chase did you realize how much worse of a position you've put yourself in. Your wounds reopened and repainted over the dry, flakey blood trails beginning just above your knee and bleeding into your socks. You sat on top of a big rock situated in a big clearing, its smooth surface comfortable to reside in. Behind the rock was a large pond full of moss and yellow leaves scattered all about. You were sweating all over, the humidity baking you in its moisture. You gazed lovingly at the pond, the last traces of light in the air reflected off the water and shimmered. Across the water stood a girl.

Auburn hair, caked in soot and something else you could not quite figure out, flowed just beneath her waist. Her bangs were overgrown and the stuffed bear she clutched outgrown for someone her size. The girls pink, frilly gown reached just below her knees that match the pair of scuffed Mary Jane's she wore. All in all, it was hard for you to take her eyes off of her.

“You there…” You started. “Can you help me, please?” No response. You stared at Lorraine with her big, doe-like eyes. They lacked depth. You continued to call out to the girl, simply assuming she didn’t hear you the first time. Again and again and again.

Throughout your bout of despair, the girl’s eyes, slowly but surely, diverted from you and instead focused on something that was above you. Suddenly, her expression changed. The girl's bottom lip trembles and she steps back, her detached demeanor crumbling into something much more human-esque. Clearly fearing for her life, she ran away. You cried out for her, hand reaching out and body ready for another chase. However, your feet collided with the surface of the pond. Not knowing how to swim, you thrashed weakly, body aching and your heart racing. With nobody around, you worried you’d never be able to see your family again.

The pond was a bit shallow, anybody over 5 ft would be able to swim in the pond just fine. However, your small body was unable to meet these requirements, Eventually you stopped struggling and sank below the surface. Water rushed through your lungs like an open floodgate and moss hugged your body, dragging you further to the bottom. Tears meshed with freshwater. Your eyes fluttered shut and you soon lost consciousness.

***

When you came to again, there was an invisible weight sitting on your chest. The pressure disoriented you further but dissipates as soon as you open your eyes. Stars peek out from the tree branches, playing their own exclusive game of hide and seek. You shudder, the weight of your soggy clothes super gluing your body to the ground. You were afraid that if you stayed in this position for too long, the ground would turn into the consistency of quicksand and envelop you in a mass of soil so strong you’d never recover. While this thought was terrifying, it did not lessen the sense of belonging you felt. It was as if the forest was begging you to stay with it, begging you to stay because in order to function it… it needed you.

You sat upright and the pain in your body was nothing but a dull, annoying ache. You didn’t know how long you’d been out for — or who pulled you out of the water, for that matter. You were exhausted and cold and had half a mind to sleep right then and there and call it a night. You laid on her right side and listened to the sound of the wind collaborate with hollow tree bark to make music that was, to put it simply, terribly shrill. Cold, hungry and dehydrated, you just about gave up. A big shadow towers over your small body, piquing your interest rather than scaring you away. You slowly stand up and look behind you only to bump noses (or a lack thereof) with a strange entity.

A white, blank canvas waiting to be whole is the simplest way to describe it. It had deep contours in places where features should have been present and rough, sandpapery skin. You couldn’t help but let a gasp crawl up from your throat. You stumble back on your bottom and the entity stands, as it was previously on its knees, to its full height. Long and slender, the entity rivaled the height of the trees, black suit and tie worn giving off the appearance of a spider.

“Hello?” You meekly called out. “Who are you?” Again, no response. However, this entity did not run away. Instead, it sat down on the rock beside the pond, the rock where you previously sat. The ground trembled beneath its feet. Instinctively, you sat down beside it and tried to get your questions answered. The entity seemed tame enough to bombard with questions, anyway.

“What is your name?” You had your eyes trained forward as it was a pain in the neck (quite literally) to look at it in the face. It did not respond verbally, instead began to draw in the ground with a wooden stick. It takes the entity a while, but to your knowledge it expresses to you that it is a man. He has many names but there is never one that sticks. His decision to draw instead of speak reminds you of the drawings you found earlier.

“Did… did you draw these?” You fish them out of the pond and shake the wet paper where he can see them. He shakes his head slowly and reaches for the drawings to inspect them further. “Do you know who did?” He nods. You then begin to profusely apologize for dropping them into the water, to which he shakes his head again once more. 

You ask him more questions, relating to him and his relation to the forest. You did not understand many of the answers given to you but you were happy to speak to someone nonetheless. You share with him the struggle you encountered that led you to where you are right now, your school life, your family, anything you could think of. He wasn’t much of a talker but the palm resting on your shoulder communicated to you that he was listening.

“Do you know the way out from here?” You finally ask, worn out from your incessant rant. He draws out the directions and drops the wooden stick, indicating the end of their time together. A mixture of emotions, good and bad, rush through your body and you ultimately ask if he could walk with you. He complies and he, hand-in-hand together, guides you out of the forest. The walk is relatively quiet aside from the gentle crunching of leaves beneath their feet.

Eventually you can see the edge of the forest and your heart skips a beat. For walking a short distance, they sure did arrive fast. The entity, confidence radiating from its clean posture, lets go of your hand. His elongated arm stretches out in front of him, pointing to the exit. Grateful, you wrap your arms around his pant leg and squeeze tight.

“Thank you,” You mumbled into it. “Will I ever see you again?”

He squeezes your shoulder once more, hands calloused and cold to the touch. He gives no indication of an answer. Instead, he returns the rubber ball you'd been looking for since the very beginning.

“H...how did you find this?” You ask, although too in awe to expect an answer. It saved you from the disappointment of not receiving one, and you didn’t.

They depart in silence. The sound of police sirens come into earshot, red and blue lights illuminating the tree bark it surrounds. You grow weary of this sight but continue nonetheless, clutching the rubber ball. There is an abundant amount of police cars parked in the street. Many people are swarming the area like flies, too busy to take notice of the young girl standing in the sidelines.

An officer leans against a tree haphazardly, half eaten pretzel hanging from his mouth. He is fairly young and easy to approach. You tap him on the shoulder and he looks up from his cellphone. He didn’t recognize you beneath the shade. 

“What do you want, kid?”

“I’m looking for my mom and… a-and my dad.”

“Where’d they go?” He pockets his cellphone and crouches down to look you in the eye. Your hair is in disarray, dirt and confetti-sized leaves assimilated into your stringy hair. Still wearing your school uniform, the wind grazes your swollen, bruised kneecaps and you cringed, body folding into itself. He took note of this, the cogs in his brain beginning to turn in a clockwise motion. She looks an awful lot like the girl in the papers.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen them all day.”

And that’s when it clicked.

“What’s your name?”

“(Name)…” You felt uneasy as his face got closer to yours, inspecting your face and all.

“Come with me, kid,” He takes a hold of your hand and you reluctantly follow, maneuvering through the crowd. You’d never seen so many people before. Soon you were introduced to another adult, and then another. It wasn’t long until your mother’s Subaru pulled up on the side of the road and your parents hurried outside.

“(Nickname), ohmygosh!” Her mother embraced you, tears streaming down her face and seeping through the thin fabric of your dress shirt. The rubber ball you previously held was now bouncing by your feet. Her mother cried and cried and you cried just as much. She squeezed you tight, afraid that if she let go, her daughter would disappear right before her eyes. “Where have you been?”

“Looking for… for the… b-”

“You know what? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter one bit.” She cradled your face in her palms, wiping away the remainder of your tears with her thumbs. Her mother’s face was thin and furrowed, dark circles nesting beneath her eyes. Dark, long hair fell to her sides and she smelled like coffee. Your eyes tried to find your father’s in the middle of your haze, but he was occupied with the officer who you had approached earlier. You didn’t hear their discussion, but it didn’t matter to you; you were finally home.

***

You sat in the tub, eyes and posture straight and diligent. Your mother combed the tangles out of your hair, humming to herself to occupy the silence. She has a beautiful voice, you thought to yourself. When your mother was done, she gently applied soap and water to your frail body as to not flare up the injuries sustained in the forest. Your mother was a gentle person.

“Do you think I could stay home from school tomorrow?” You asked politely, turning your body, elbows propped up on the edge of the porcelain tub. Your mother looked confused.

“What are you talking about, sweetheart?”

“Well… it’s Thursday, isn’t it?” You did not understand your mother’s confusion.

“It’s Saturday.” Your mother affirmed. How could this be? “And I’ll be having a talk with your principal. I don’t want you going to school with irresponsible teachers.”

“Okay, mommy.” You complied, albeit upset. You turned back to your original position and played in the water absentmindedly, ripples following one after another. Your mother hums a different tune again, a nursery rhyme you can’t quite remember. “Hey, ma?”

“Yes, baby?”

“I saw a man today.”

Your mother stops, detangling her fingers out of your hair. Waiting for you to continue.

“He was very tall and long like a tree. He he had no face. He helped me find my way back home to you.” Your mother let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in.

“You nearly scared me, (Nickname),” Your mother laughs crudely. “You must’ve been imagining this person is all.”

“No, I swear it was true.” Your mother laughs again.

“What was his name, then?” She asks, playing along with what seemed to be her daughters shenanigans. “Tell me about him.”

“Well…” You bit your lip. “He doesn’t really have a name. He was very quiet but he likes to draw.” Your mother turned off the running water and drained the tub, standing up to grab a towel. She wraps it around you, your body shaking. Teeth chattering.

Your mother prepared you for bed, from dressing you to tucking you into your bed. A new, fresh set of uniform lay folded on your bureau. The old one was torn and dirty beyond repair and so your mother decided to throw them away instead.

“Good night, (Nickname).” Your mother cooed, brushing any stray hairs out of your face. You smiled and kissed your mother’s cheek. As per usual, the steady stream of yelling starts up a few minutes after your mother turns off the light and closes the door shut. Over the years, you had accustomed yourself to sleep through the ruckus. The thick walls dampened the noise your parents created. This aided in creating a false pretense that their arguments were not as severe as you'd previously thought. However, this time the ruckus was much louder and harder to ignore.

And so you stayed up all night, eyes staring into the yellow wallpaper that covered the four walls of your bedroom, thinking of what you’d have for breakfast tomorrow morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> your therapy session brings back an old, repressed memory from that night.

“Hello, Doctor Sutton.” Your greeting was curt as you sat down in a chair across from Doctor Sutton. You smoothed your corduroy skirt to keep it tidy. You fiddled with your thumbs, applying pressure on each of your joints to simulate an independent game of thumb wars. To an outsider, your disinterested and, most of all, rude way of addressing the Doctor was preposterous. But when you’ve been conditioned to believe that what you’ve seen two years ago was nothing but your imagination — a way to cope with the issues of other people you didn’t quite fully understand — it takes a toll on you. In this case, it infuriated you.

You were 12 years old.

“You can just call me Diane, darling,” Diane replied, her tone casual and dismissive of your behavior. “You don’t have to be so formal, especially since we’ve been seeing each other quite regularly, haven’t we?” Diane grabs her clipboard and a black pen, waking it up by tapping its head against the body of the clipboard. It made a satisfying click. “How long has it been again?”

“About a year and a half, I guess.” Diane hummed and jotted down something you could not see, not that she wanted to, anyway. You leaned against the chair, the backrest moving in accordance with the groove of your spine and waited until Diane was finished so that she could begin their session for today. You would see the Doctor once a week. You glanced over at the oblong-shaped clock on the wall behind Diane, it read 2:04 pm.

After the first incident that would start another incident three years later and start many other incidents spanning all throughout high school and her adulthood — call it a domino effect — you began to speak in a tongue that your parents couldn’t quite understand. Not literally, though, but speaking of a man with no face and depicting said man in colorful illustrations was an act your parents deemed abnormal. Deep into the dark contours of this man’s face lie your nine-year-old self, sleeping peacefully. The terrible… trauma you were subjected to in that forest two years ago buried itself beneath a white, expressionless mask. He protected you from the eventual split of your parents and would continue to do so for the remainder of your life.

All your parents wanted from you was to grow up.

“Now, how have you been feeling?” Diane hums.

“Fine.”

Diane already has an inkling that today will be a difficult day. “Would you go further into detail, please?”

“I feel fine… and annoyed. I don’t want to be here.” You hesitate. “We talk about the same stuff every day.”

“I understand how annoying that can be, darling, but you started seeing me because of a specific problem, no?” Diane tried to be reasonable with the little girl but it seems as if all rational thinking went through one ear and out the other.

“I guess so.” You scratched your forehead and looked around absentmindedly. “But I don’t consider it a problem, my parents do.”

“What do you consider it, then?” Diane felt as if she was hitting jackpot, getting you to speak about your issues in detail was something that would rarely happen.

“I know what I saw. It wasn’t fake or something I made up.” You always felt on edge whenever you were bombarded with accusatory questions. “I would understand if I was much younger…”

“Imaginary friends usually dissipate around ages 9, but it’s normal for them to linger for much longer.”

“Don’t. Call. Him. That.” You were like a boiling kettle, ready to burst if prompted to. No matter what you’d say, to both your parents and Diane, they’d never believe you. They weren’t there that night — they did not experience what you experienced back then. Although memories regarding that night (or those two days, according to your mother) were hazy, the only solid person, or thing, was that entity. The entity who is known by many names. So many names that you found it difficult to address him in a consistent manner. The tips of your ear grew red in anger and frustration, however, Diane kept on pushing your buttons.

“What should I call ‘him’, then?”

“You don’t need to call him anything, because I don’t want you talking about him. It’s all we talk about.” You fold your arms over your chest and a rather annoying headache ensues.

“Do you still see him after that night?” Diane questions, completely ignoring your request. “The… man.”

“No.” You lie.

It was true, you had seen him a couple more times throughout the first half of the year. A specific memory stands out to you.

***

The muffled voices of your parents intermingled, both forces to be reckoned with. The events of tonight were nothing new — their arguing had become so ingrained into your routine that it became easier to fall asleep to the more they argued. It was similar to a lullaby, that is, if you preferred loud lullabies that did not sing about pockets full of posies and instead sang about unemployment and your father’s unexplainable disinterest for his daughter.

“This is the third time this month you’ve been laid off, Jacob,” You hear your mother proclaim. “You promised me that you’d get your shit together.”

“I know… I know,” Jacob starts and by the tone of his voice you could predict the spritz of excuses about to be thrown out. “but it’s harder than it looks to keep a job, trust me!”

Your mother groans and you faintly hear the sofa creak under your mother’s weight. Silence follows for a minute, and your mother says something that you cannot hear.

“Tiana…” Jacob starts, his voice low but audible. “I am trying my best, you know that, right?”

“No, I don’t know.” Tiana says flatly. “It never feels like you are, Jake. I mean, with (Nickname) and all… you haven’t acknowledged her one bit ever since she came back home.”

“That was not my—”

“For God’s sake! Is anything you do on purpose?” Tiana raises her voice, the sound echoing around the outskirts of your bedroom walls. “Can you take accountability for anything you do?” By the door frame, you could see yellow wallpaper peeling off in thin and even shreds. You stared and stared, eyes unmoving until the adhesive could hold this family together no longer. You did not understand the situation entirely, but it would be wise not to dwell on it. “She had been missing for two days, Jake. Two days!”

They continued their seemingly never-ending argument and you decided to turn your attention to the window adjacent to your bed. The digital clock on top of your windowsill read 12:17 AM in big, bright red numbers. Outside was pitch black, the only source of light coming from the streetlamp across the street. It was old, yellow, flickering, useful enough to not be replaced. You were just about to turn right back around and go to sleep when something — or someone — caught your attention. And in the place where you least expected, of all.

No Face stood outside, under the streetlamp, now flickering much faster than before, staring up at you. He, again, rivaled the height of the streetlamp he stood beside and it created a deep, dark shadow behind him. Static surged through your core, tantalizing and leaving you breathless. You sat upright, fingers grasping the lift and pushing it upwards. It was a little difficult at first but you soon got the hang of it. A cool breeze tickled your face and collarbone. You stare at your companion longingly.

You both make eye contact (or a lack thereof) and you can’t help but smile, teeth and all. When you both departed, you surely thought that that would be your final exchange. Fortunately for you, it was far from it. You wave excitedly. The shouting had increased in volume and intensity but you were too focused on No Face to even consider the possibility of the impending doom waiting just outside your door.

“Hey, psst, can you hear me?” You whisper out of your window. Silence follows for a few seconds and, just when you thought he hadn’t heard you, he replies with a slow nod. A nod by an entity this powerful casts a moderate wind that you could feel on your face. It brings peace and security, a rarity amongst your family. You remove the thick, brown blanket from your lap and jumped out of bed to introduce your parents to your new friend, the friend that helped you find your way back home.

The sound that was once background noise increases back to its original volume, if not louder. Your joyous reunion had given you some leeway from your household, but you had been pulled back inside too fast for that taste of freedom to settle.

Your parents were like oil and vinegar — they didn’t mix. You tap your mother’s back gently, afraid to startle her. However, nothing could startle the fury that raged on within her. Her hair flipped from the left to the right side of her back, body shaking. It was uncertain whether she was shaking from anger or fear.

“(Nickname), baby?” The sound of your voice extinguished her flames and your mother turned around to envelop you into a hug. “What are you doing awake at this hour?” Your mother’s dismissal of her husband irritated him, but he stayed silent nevertheless.

“I wanted… I wanted to…” It was hard for you to form the right words, the warmth of your mother’s body scrambling your brain. “I wanted to introduce you to my friend, the one who saved me and brought me home.”

And off they went together, hand in hand, to your room with looks of skepticism. Your father followed behind, begrudgingly, he had let his curiosity get the better of him. A trait that you had inherited as well, for better or for worse. You turn your head and make eye contact with your father, his gaze as cold as ice. Your eyes lingered for a while, waiting for a sign — anything that would be able to bring light into your dreary, nearly extinct relationship with him — but there was nothing. Nothing at all. And so you looked away, squeezing your mother’s hand much tighter than before.

“Woah there, rascal, you’re going to squeeze my hand off.” Your mother jokes.

When they enter your bedroom, you climb atop your bed and look out the window once more just to make sure he is still there. Tall, unwavering and silent. He has yet to move. By now, your parents are beside your bed frame, confused and waiting for their daughter’s directions.

“Come, look, he’s outside,” You turn to look at them, gesturing for them to come closer. And so they do, kneeling into the mattress and one hand holding opposite sides of the bed frame. The bed shifts to carry their weight with a creak. With your mother on her left side and your father on your right, they collectively look outside. You gasp.

“He?” Her father asks, but he is met with silence.

“There’s nobody outside, Lori.” Your mother runs her hand through your hair. “What exactly did he look like?”

“Tall… very tall.” You start with a pout. “As tall as the street lamp outside. And his arms were long too. He…!” Your feelings overwhelm you. You could not finish your sentence.

“I see what this is now.” Your father says, disappointed, and leaves the room shortly. Your mother frowns and does not respond to his childish behavior. Instead, she wipes the tears from her daughter’s cheek and smiles.

"Dad’s a little cranky right now. But I’m sure your friend is just shy.” You smile halfheartedly and nod. “I hope I get to meet him soon. But it’s very late. Let's get you to bed, alright?” Following your mother's instructions, you crawl back under your covers and lay your head on your pillow, although flat and cold. Your mother kisses your forehead softly.

“Goodnight, mommy.”

“Goodnight, (Name).” When she closes the door behind her, you peek out from one eye, checking to see if the coast was clear. You sit up from your bed and look outside the window once again. Surely enough, there he stood, as if he had been waiting for you this entire time. You smile, eyes sparkling with admiration.

“It’s you, again.”

***

“How am I ever going to get through to you?” Diane sighs. You do not respond, not that Diane was ever expecting you to, and the rest of their session continues with no success of bringing you back to your senses.

**Author's Note:**

> ♡ feedback and kudos are always appreciated ♡


End file.
